


only human

by Caffeinevampire



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I just love them, Love Confessions, M/M, No Beta, Pining, Poe's pov, Third Person POV, We Die Like Men, and i had to write again to write something for them, listen okay, takes place between tlj and tros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22056868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffeinevampire/pseuds/Caffeinevampire
Summary: "Poe grappled behind him for something - anything - to use in his defence. His fingers closed around a jagged piece of rock. Channelling his power and adrenaline, he swung forward, smashing it into the stormtrooper’s helmet and using the momentum to stagger onto his feet. The visor shattered. Tinted glass rained to the floor. The blaster slipped from their hand in their shock. Poe’s focus was entirely on the blaster. He snatched it from the forest floor, swinging around and pointing it at the stormtrooper’s face. He should have fired without thinking. He didn’t. The stormtrooper stared back at him. His eyes were Finn’s."/Occasionally, when the stolen children weren't enough to fill out the ranks of the stormtroopers, they took their DNA, harvesting it to create clone armies, raised in different facilities and conditioning them. It served two purposes; filling out the ranks and determining which method was most effective. Finn knew this. He had the knowledge stored away in his mind somewhere, he just didn't realise how relevant it was to him.in which poe encounters a hoard of stormtroopers with finn's face, is haunted by the thought of finn dead and finn comforts him.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn, Stormpilot - Relationship
Comments: 22
Kudos: 203





	1. haunted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChloeGreen1998](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeGreen1998/gifts).



> I haven't written and posted anything in literal years so here's your forewarning that I write like a heathen and my writing style is,,,, so chaotic
> 
> I've been hyperfixating on star wars all over again since I watched TROS and my sons so here's this
> 
> I dedicated this to my bro b/c they had to put up with me asking for their opinions and sending them snippets every two seconds b/c writing,,,, is hard

BB-8 beeped a low sound of warning, sliding backwards and bumping against Poe's ankles. Another beep. Poe lowered himself instinctively, one hand hovering over his blaster. He trusted his droid to sense the lurking danger, knowing it was better to listen to them and be sure. Together, they crept forward, using the forest's undergrowth, and a nearby rocky ledge, as cover. The two of them were on a scouting mission for the resistance. It was low-profile, supposedly low danger, nothing more than visiting nearby planets for potential allies and to assess the suitability for a new base. They'd landed his x-wing without running into trouble, hiding it amongst the forest's shrubbery and taking to groundwork. This wasn't exactly how he'd expected today to go.

As he moved around the rock face, he spied a party of stormtroopers. No more than eight. Clearly a patrol. Forty feet away. They hadn't spotted him yet, but they were stood in a tactical formation, alert. He could use this to his advantage.

BB-8 beeped a warning, clearly predicting Poe's thoughts. "Don't be reckless." They chimed. He shouldn't be reckless. He knew that. Leia had scolded him time and time again for jumping into action without thinking. But here was an opportunity. An opportunity to rid themselves of some potential threats. A chance. He should take it. Two versus eight weren't the best odds, but they were odds he liked.

He darted forward, keeping to the undergrowth, his steps light. He kept his movements quiet, the rustling of the bushes blending with the sound of wind. Avoiding twigs, keeping to the mossy patches, but watching out for slip hazards, he knew how to keep from being seen. He'd grown up surrounded by a jungle, this, as much as being a pilot, was his forte. It was in his blood. BB-8 moved silently from a distance, beeping quiet protests. Poe waved his arm at them, brushing them off and attempting to silence them. He was close now. He didn't want to be heard.

He aimed his blaster at the nearest stormtrooper. Fired. The shot hit directly in the middle of their chest. They fell backwards. Dead. One down, seven to go. The remaining stormtroopers wasted no time charging in his direction, unsystematically firing their blasters in every direction. Poe was still in the undergrowth, mostly hidden. He rolled to the side, firing two more shots. Another stormtrooper down. Six left.

Poe retreated towards the rock face, keeping low. He watched them swarm, stumble, unsure of his exact location. He fired another shot. It hit a stormtrooper square in the back and they staggered forward, clutching onto their fellow stormtrooper as the life left their body. Five.

He slipped around the side, using it for cover. He fired again. Missed. Fired. The shot hit the space between the helmet and armour, the vulnerable point at the neck. Four. Four against two. Good odds. He was enjoying this.

Using the rockface for support, he leaned back against it, stretching his arm to the side and firing three more blasts. Another stormtrooper down. In his peripheral, he spied BB-8 zapping another one of them. He trusted his droid to handle the situation and judge the amount of voltage needed for the task. Incapacitated or dead, it didn’t matter, so long as they couldn’t fight. Two left.

A blast ricocheted against the rockface above his right shoulder, drawing his attention from his droid back to the fight at hand. He ducked, rolling forward and meeting the stormtrooper who had fired at him. Using the side of his blaster, he smashed it into their chin, sending them toppling backwards. He spun his blaster and shot them, once, square in the chest, for good measure. One.

Poe cried out as a burning sensation flared in his left arm. He’d been hit. He dropped his blaster in surprise and pain, unable to stop the reflex. The wound seared, angry and hot. It was bleeding. It felt like he was ablaze.

Before he could recover and scramble for his blaster, the offending stormtrooper kicked it aside. It skidded across the forest floor, out of reach. Poe prepared himself to dive in its direction. The stormtrooper dived in his direction. They collided. He fell backwards with a dull thump, his head cushioned by some moss. He was thankful. The last thing he needed was to be concussed.

Poe grappled behind him for something - anything - to use in his defence. His fingers closed around a jagged piece of rock. Channelling his power and adrenaline, he swung forward, smashing it into the stormtrooper’s helmet and using the momentum to stagger onto his feet. The visor shattered. Tinted glass rained to the floor. The blaster slipped from their hand in their shock. Poe’s focus was entirely on the blaster. He snatched it from the forest floor, swinging around and pointing it at the stormtrooper’s face. He should have fired without thinking. He didn’t. The stormtrooper stared back at him. His eyes were Finn’s.

Poe didn’t move. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. All he could see were Finn’s eyes. Finn’s eyes staring back at him. The stormtrooper’s shock faded before his did. They charged, throwing a fist into Poe’s face as they tackled him to the ground. His cheekbone stung. A dull pain in his back. His head probably hit something. It wasn’t enough to register. The shock was still winning.

The stormtrooper had accepted the loss of their weapon, resorting to more barbaric means. Their hands wrapped around Poe’s neck. Tight. Relentless. Choking the life out of him. Poe’s brain still hadn’t caught up. He couldn’t compute what was happening. The information had got lost somewhere; his body didn’t know how to react. He was going to die, die facing eyes that looked like Finn’s, killed by the face of the one person he had ever truly loved. He’d never had the chance to tell him.

The stormtrooper crumpled, their grip loosening. They fell backwards, their body shuddering violently; it was electrical stunning. BB-8 beeped, irritated, zapping the stormtrooper again. “Friend-Poe, help.” They scolded, nudging the blaster.

Poe was a pilot. He knew how to fly. He could jump into a cockpit, fly out of base and take on enemy ships, all with his eyes closed. He’d done it so many times it was ingrained into him. Autopilot. His body went into autopilot now. He scrambled for the blaster, fingers closing around the handle and firing two blasts into the stormtrooper’s chest. The twitching stopped. They were dead.

The shock took the reins again. Poe scrambled to his feet, chest heaving. The blaster slipped from his fingers; his hands were trembling. This had to be a dream. It had to be a simulation, a force illusion. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t have been _him._ Maybe stormtroopers just all had similar facial structures. Maybe their eyes just sat in their face the same way. He could convince himself that. Walk away. Never think about it again.

But the thought nagged at him. It was itching in his mind, begging to be scratched. He had to be sure. He had to know.

Swallowing nervously, he stumbled forward, fingers hooking underneath the helmet and pulling it off in one fluid motion. A strangled noise escaped his throat. He had blood on his hands.

It was him. It was Finn. The dead stormtrooper wore his face. The same soft features that he’d committed to memory. Those dark, doleful eyes that stared past every insecurity he’d ever had. That could see into his soul, make him feel _known._ The same lips he was always one step away from pressing a kiss to. This face was marred with blood, glass embedded into their cheek. Their eyes were staring into the beyond. Into nothing. Dead.

Dread filled Poe’s gut. Panic. Fear.

Finn was dead.

Dead.

Dead.

_Dead._

His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat as hot tears streamed down his face. He was no stranger to death. No stranger to corpses. He’d been responsible for death before; stormtroopers, bounty hunters, first order scum. He held himself accountable for many lost friends and resistance members. Even his mother had died when he was young. And yet.

Poe doubled over the other side of the body, retching. His whole body was trembling. He was scared. Terrified. Pure horror flooding him. _Finn._ He tried to breathe through it, but his breaths were coming fast and shallow. He couldn’t catch even one of them. He was hyperventilating.

“Friend-Poe?” BB-8 beeped, unsure. They circled him, pulling out the medical equipment they kept on hand and doing quick scans. Poe tried to focus on the methodical sounds, the clinking and buzzing, the little trills BB-8 made as they worked. He focused his breathing around the sounds, concentrating on each individual breath, swallowing the fear. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. There was some explanation, some rationality behind this. Finn wouldn’t have tried to kill him. So therefore, it couldn’t have been Finn. Not _his_ Finn. He had to keep telling himself that, reminding himself of the possibilities; it could have been like the old days, the clone wars. It couldn’t have been Finn.

But the fear inside him was already awake. It was there, ready to incapacitate him, eating up every one of his worries and projecting them as a reality. Pulling at every loose thread until it left a mess in its wake. He’d been responsible for his friend’s deaths before, why not Finn’s too?

_No._

“Friend-Poe will need minor medical treatment soon. Slight injuries, palpitations and irregular breathing. Friend-Poe is panicking.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Poe said, his voice shaky. The little droid always had good intentions and their presence was soothing. He was glad he wasn’t facing this completely alone. Even if BB-8 didn’t fully understand human emotion, he’d had the droid by his side for more years than he could count, and they’d grown accustomed to what he needed. Having them fuss over him and check he was still functioning was enough to kick his brain back into gear.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply one last time before he pushed himself to his feet. The stormtrooper was still there. It still had Finn’s face. It was enough to undo him. Poe’s rationality left him again. The panic rose back up inside him. The fear. The need to know. The tears were sliding down his face before he could stop them, his breaths ragged, but he didn’t collapse back to the floor. Fuelled by fear and adrenaline, he stumbled towards the next body, the trail of corpses he’d left, unmasking each, and every, one of them.

They all had Finn’s face.

It was all too much.

Poe crumpled to his knees. His sobbing was louder now. His breathing was uneven. Ugly sounds bubbled up in his throat. The edges of his vision were fuzzy. Hysteria clouded his mind. He pressed his fingers into the mud underfoot, scooping back chunks, digging a hole. With his bare hands. It was all he had. But he had to do it. He couldn’t leave them. He had to bury them.

The sky changed around him as he dug. From light to dusk – the sky turning violet, pink and amber – and from dusk to dark, the planet’s three moons lighting the forest enough for Poe to see. His breathing eventually slowed. His eyes dried, tear tracks staining his face. His arms were tingling, the blaster wound burning, mud caking his skin. He couldn’t feel his hands. He was still shaking.

He kept digging.

BB-8 had joined him, using whatever tool extensions they had to try and aid him. They didn’t understand the necessity, had tried talking him out of it, but came to realise it was something he needed to do. They just wanted to help.

The sun peeked over the horizon, tinting the dark canvas with warm tones. Poe was knelt in his hole. He had been digging all night. His fingers were bruised, littered with small cuts and scrapes. He couldn’t feel them. Whatever damage he’d done, it was something he’d have to deal with later. His joints ached, begging him for rest. His cheek stung; that punch had left a mark. He had a splitting headache. His eyes burned. The wound on his arm had a heartbeat of its own. Nausea was his baseline.

Each physical pain paled in comparison to the pain in his heart. His heart ached. It wanted to break; to shatter, to give out.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, wincing. Everything hurt. He hurt. Everything in him begged him to lie down and sleep. He couldn’t. He had to do this.

Poe staggered to his feet, his lack of sleep hitting him all at once. He almost toppled over. _Almost_. His balance didn’t fail him. He stumbled forward, his body protesting, making his way to the nearest corpse. Swallowing bile, and the rising fear, he hooked his arms under their armpits and dragged them towards the shallow grave he’d dug. It could hardly be qualified as a grave. It wouldn’t fit all these bodies. But it was all he could do.

He piled them all in the grave, trying to scrub the image of Finn’s face from his memory. He knew it would be engrained there forever. Poe couldn’t unsee those dead eyes. It would haunt him for the rest of his life. He glanced back at the mess he’d made, wanting to do something more for them. BB-8 beeped at him before igniting the pile.

“Thanks, buddy.” Poe said tiredly, running his hands through his matted curls and tugging. It was time to leave.

//

If Poe’s body didn’t run on autopilot, he never would have made it back to the base. He had no memory of how he’d gotten back. No memory of the journey through space in his x-wing. All he could remember was Finn’s dead face. Those eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about them.

It had been a long time since he’d been this afraid. The last time, he’d been facing death, hiding every insecurity behind his pride and defiance. That was when he had first met Finn. Finn had saved him from that inevitability; saved him from further torture, from an eventual brutal death. His life had changed since then.

Poe sighed, climbing out of his x-wing and leaving the hangar. He wanted to find Finn. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to erase the image of dead eyes and bloody hands from his mind. He wanted to eat. He wanted to tell Finn how he really felt, fear and pride be damned. He wanted to rest. He wanted to shower. He did none of those things. His duty came first. He had to report back to his General, back to Leia.

He found her in her quarters, sat behind her desk and filing reports. “Poe.” She acknowledged, finishing her writing before she glanced up. A flash of worry passed over her face. He winced; he should have gotten cleaned up first.

“General.” He nodded. “I didn’t manage to do much scouting. I, uh- “He ran his hand through curls, aiming for casual, landing on distressed as his fingers caught on the matted mess. Blood and mud flashed through his mind. “Ran into some trouble. A patrol. It took longer to deal with them than expected.”

Leia filled in the blanks. She sighed, scanning his face. He felt defenceless under her gaze, too exposed and _seen_. Poe knew far too well that she could see under his flyboy exterior, sense the fear and vulnerability lurking underneath. She always knew what he was thinking, how he was feeling, the intention behind his actions. She nodded.

“I’ll send another scout- “He tensed. He couldn’t imagine being on that planet again. The wound was too fresh. “But we’re looking for a base suitable for all our people. They’ll look for potential allies and supplies, nothing more.”

Guilt pricked at the edge of Poe’s senses. That planet could have been their new base, but Leia had taken one look at his expression and ruled out the possibility. She could read his thoughts and feelings, despite the guards he put up.

“Go get your wounds checked, freshen up and rest.” Leia said gently, her face stern. He shook his head before he could stop himself. She raised her hand, leaving no room for arguments. “Poe, we need everyone to be at their best. Sleep deprivation will do nothing to save you. There are people you can talk to, if you need to. I won’t make you, but the option is there. We all need someone to listen from time to time.”

Poe nodded. He couldn’t tell anyone about this. It was just something he had to deal with on his own.

“And Poe, you should tell him.”

“What?” Poe frowned; he’d lost track of the conversation.

“Finn.” Leia prompted lightly. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You should tell him. You’ll feel better for it. Trust me, don’t live with words left unsaid.” Her voice was tainted with melancholy and Poe knew she was thinking of her late husband.

The image of the dead stormtroopers flashed through his mind. Finn’s face. His eyes. Dead.

Finn.

Dead.

That was a thought he couldn’t bear.

He swallowed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He knew she was right. Leia was always right. She could see past any exterior and read her companions like open books. She didn't know the details, she didn't need to, but she knew what was bothering them underneath. Buried deep down, that's what was bothering Poe. His feelings for Finn. The knowledge of the danger they were all constantly in. The possibility of never speaking those words, of never bringing those feelings to light, of never knowing what could be. Finn, _his_ Finn, wearing a matching expression, his eyes as dead as those stormtrooper's. But-

"Think about it." Leia said firmly, interrupting his thoughts. "Now go clean yourself up, you’re dismissed.”

//

Poe was pacing. He knew he was pacing. The knowledge that he was pacing didn’t help him stop pacing. He was restless. He was getting urgent; he _needed_ Finn to be back now. Maybe if he could see his face unmarred by injuries and blood, he could finally shake off _this_ fear and dread. Of course, it was just his luck that Finn had been away on a mission with Rey, Chewie and R2-D2 when he needed to see him.

He scrubbed his face with his hands, hissing as he caught the bruise on his cheekbone. The passing hours hadn’t been kind to his face. He’d washed and scrubbed away the dirt and dried blood, revealing a bruise spreading across his cheekbone. It swirled in blotches of blue, purple and yellow, like ink spilled across a page, the colours convoluting like a galaxy. A really painful galaxy. He hadn’t deemed it serious enough to be treated with bacta, they could save that for more serious injuries, but he reluctantly let them rub some into his hands and the blaster wound on his arm.

“Oi, Dameron!” A voice shouted, pulling him from his thoughts. Poe turned to see Jessika Pava waving him over. “Stop waiting for your boyfriend and get your pathetic ass over here.”

Ignoring her comment and welcoming the distraction, he jogged over, BB-8 in tow. “What’s up?” He asked, squatting to where she was sat on the floor. He steadied himself with his hands. The hangar floor was cold.

“Kriff, what happened to your face?”

Poe waved his hand. “Just a scrap with a stormtrooper. No big deal. Does it make me look badass?”

Jess snorted. “It makes you look like a moron.” She placed a hand on his knee, her face turning serious. “And your expression betrays you. You’re wearing too much of your pain.” Damn. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s your deal.” She removed her hand and gestured to the motor pieces and tools in her lap. “Help me with this? Found them in a wreckage, I reckon if we can get them working, we can fix up some of those old a-wings, get some more birds in the air.” 

Poe nodded. He shifted until he was sitting on the floor beside her and took some of the pieces from her. He examined them carefully. He’d worked on a couple of different motors and engines in his day. His own x-wing. His mother’s a-wing.

His mother.

He missed her. She always knew what to say, how best to reassure him. She knew when he was hiding, could always coax the truth and his anxieties out of him. Absent-mindedly, his hand moved up to his chain, running it between his fingers. He thumbed the smooth metal of the band, the cool surface soothing him.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Poe turned them over. There was potential in them. Hope. “We can definitely do something with these, I- “

He trailed off; his sentence lost to the familiar sound of the Millennium Falcon. He watched her fly overhead, recognising Rey’s style of flight as she pulled into the hangar. Finn was on that ship. _Finn._

Jess was watching him, a fond smile on her face. “Go to him.”

He didn’t need telling twice. He retorted with a quick “Shut up,” which lacked any bite, and hurried towards the Falcon. His heart was pounding, stuttering in his chest. The urgency was consuming him. He had to know, had to see him. He needed him. Finn was okay. He was okay. He _had_ to be okay.

The Falcon’s doors opened. There was Rey, Chewbecca in tow. Poe’s heart stuttered, stilled. The noise buzzing inside him silenced. There he was.

There he was.

Poe was running, running, running. He couldn’t stop himself. Finn turned his head, hearing the footsteps, his face lighting up instantly. He opened his arms and Poe crashed into them. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pressing his face into Finn’s neck. Finn’s arm surrounded him just as tightly. Tears pricked his eyes. He swallowed. Finn was alive. He was alive. He was alive. Alive and in Poe’s arms. Alive and here, where he was meant to be. Poe didn’t want to let go.

He couldn’t let go.

He should let go.

Reluctantly, Poe drew back, heat rising to his cheeks. He felt sheepish. Dumb. Like a teenager again, in the presence of his first crush. He couldn’t stop the goofy grin he knew was spreading across his face. He was just so happy to see Finn. For him to be alive. He wanted to hug him again. Wanted to keep him in his arms. Knew he shouldn’t have held on for so long.

Finn studied his face, his expression warm. The urge to run surfaced in Poe; he felt vulnerable, too exposed. Even more so than when facing Leia. He cleared his throat, brushing a hand through his curls.

“Are you okay?” Finn asked gently and Poe jumped. He smothered the feeling rising in him – the _need_ to just tell Finn everything – and attempted to brush it off.

“I’m okay – I’m good – I was just, uh, worried. Had a bad feeling, you know. It’s always a relief when they turn out to be nothing more than that.”

Finn shook his head, a fond smile on his lips. He didn’t relent. “I meant your face.” He said, reaching up and gingerly pressing his fingers to Poe’s cheekbone. Poe hissed. Right. The bruise. He’d forgotten about that. He pulled back slightly, trying for a casual smile and ignoring his traitorous, skittish heart. He could still feel the ghost of Finn’s fingers on his face.

“It’s nothing. Looks worse than it is. I think it makes me look more rugged, Jess just thinks I look like an idiot.”

“Jess is right.”

“Gee, thanks, buddy!” Poe laughed. His fingers came through his curls again. Snap had once commented on how he did it to draw attention to his perfect locks, but Jess had recognised it to be the anxious habit it was, poking fun at him for it. His hair was perfect though. He took great care and pride in it, it had to be. But when his thoughts wouldn’t stop coming, and he needed some stimulus to touch, his hands automatically went to his hair. Or his mother’s ring. Or both.

He was nervous now. He wanted to say something, to fill the silence that was stretching, but his brain wouldn’t supply the words. Poe was just happy that Finn was before him. That he was intact. All warm smiles, kind eyes and gentle gaze. Undoing all the knots in Poe’s stomach and retying them with another intention. He could stare at Finn all day. Appreciate his features. Bask in his warmth. His good heart. Just how far he’d come from that scared stormtrooper defying everything he’d ever known to help a lowly rebel pilot escape. He could write speeches on how much Finn inspired him, how much he admired him, how everything he’d endured at Kylo Ren’s hand was worth it for this man. This man. This man that he loved with all his heart. All his being. Everything he had to give.

He _was_ staring.

“I- “Poe started, unsure how he intended to justify himself.

“What happened to your hands?” Finn interrupted, taking them in his own. The bacta had kickstarted the healing process, but they were still bruised and battered from a whole night of digging. He’d almost forgotten. The images of the dead stormtroopers flashed through his memory. Their blood on his hands. Not-Finn’s blood. Finn’s blood. He couldn’t be responsible for Finn’s death too.

He jumped backwards, trying not to think about the hurt that flashed across Finn’s face. “It’s nothing to worry about, buddy. It’s getting late though, and you need to report and recover from your mission. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Poe clapped him on the shoulder, stifling the wince that bubbled in his throat when he used too much force.

Finn studied his face, frowning. He nodded. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this chapter was like all angst and not yet to the flOOF; I split it into two b/c fdkjdfjjg I'm insecure about my writing and I need feedback for encouragement so like any feedback - good, bad, constructive, honest, pls anything - I rlly appreciate. It's all planned out and somewhat written tho so it won't end here, I assure you. I sincerely apologise if they all feel out of character, I've never rlly written star wars fanfics before and I can't write fight scenes for shit, i'm ngl to you, the fight scenes were just notes that said "write more fight scenes" for a solid two days, and it's been literal years since I've written anything, but I have lots and lots of ideas for my co-general gay sons and I just want them to be happy


	2. home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you were going to sleep?” Finn said, a hint of amusement tinting his voice. Poe rummaged through his tools, training his eyes on his own hands. “Are you okay?”
> 
> Poe waved away his concern. “I just can’t sleep.” He hadn’t really answered the question.
> 
> “Did you even try?” Finn asked. Poe glanced up at him. He looked so earnest, so worried that Poe’s heart ached. He ached. He wished he could be honest with Finn, tell him his fears, confess his feelings. But he was a coward. His fear kept him from letting others in, his fear of what he’d gain, what he’d lose. His fear of change.
> 
> Poe laughed instead – a tired laugh, but a genuine one. He located the driver, straightened up and turned back to Black One. “You got me there, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaa thank you for all the kind comments and support on the last chapter !!!!  
> this took me a little bit longer than I anticipated as I struggled writing a few scenes as I had vague ideas, but not enough to visualise and write what I wanted, but I pushed through it and finally got it done!!! the last scene I wrote was actually the nightmare, which is probably why it's a bit s h i t e but I was just desperate to finally be done and post it and it's 2am  
> hope you enjoy !!

Poe stared into the darkness, his breathing uneven and shallow. It was late, well past midnight. His quarters were bathed in shadow. The silhouettes of ordinary objects warped into menacing nightmares; the darkness in his mind had seeped into his room. He could see dead bodies in every corner. Finn’s lifeless corpse. His unseeing eyes. He was being haunted.

He turned over in his bunk, facing the wall and desperately trying to ignore the carnage behind him. Rationally, he knew it wasn’t real. It was just an illusion. His mind was playing tricks on him. The dark was manipulating harmless objects, projecting them as fearsome creatures. Forcing him to relive what he’d done. His fears, alive, and in front of him again.

Pressing the palm of his hand into his chest, he forced himself to breathe. He counted the seconds after inhaling, exhaled. He applied more pressure, fixating on the sensation of his mother’s ring pressed into his skin. A fixed point to concentrate on. Distract himself. Breathe.

His agitation was a living creature. It crawled beneath his skin. It moved, restlessly, unrelentless. It whispered in his ears; stories of horror, the secrets of the future, the inevitable death of everyone he cared about at his hands. Poe wished he could silence it, sedate the beast, have a moment of peace. If he could do that, maybe he could sleep.

Rationally, he knew Finn was alive. He’d seen him alive. He’d held him in his arms. But the dark convinced him otherwise. He could have buried Finn alongside them, and he wouldn’t have had a clue. He needed to see him again. Needed to commit every line of his face to his memory. Needed to be honest about how he felt. Leia was right; he should tell him.

Poe loosened the pressure on his chest, raising his hands to examine them. He stared at them in the black, his eyes fixating on the traces of blood. His hands were stained. He couldn’t scrub it off. The blood had seeped into his skin. He was permanently marked with what he’d done. He’d killed Finn. He’d killed Finn. He’d killed Finn.

Early morning sunshine streamed in through the window, painting his quarters in pale light. His hands were illuminated, the darkness washed away. The shadows were banished. His vision cleared. He had no blood on his hands. They were red, rubbed raw from his futile digging efforts, but blood free. He drew a shaky breath and glanced around. The horrors in his room were gone. It was just his quarters again, unorganised and mundane, as they had always been.

Poe closed his eyes. Opened them again. His chest hurt; he carried his burden there. The weight of all that he’d done. He’d started carrying deaths there; every resistance member he’d killed, the weight multiplying with each one. He blamed himself for so many of them. The bombing squads. All their leaders. Everyone on those carriers. Holdo. The people lost on Crait.

It was heavy. So heavy. The memory of Finn’s dead eyes weighed heaviest of all. He was going to collapse under the weight of it. He deserved it.

Exasperated, Poe tugged his fingers through his hair. This wasn’t working. He couldn’t sleep. He wouldn’t sleep. He’d been haunted by the blackness and kept awake, but his body recognised the daylight as a time for productivity. It was time to get to work, to find a task, to rebuild some semblance of a routine. He could distract himself, tire himself out enough to sleep dreamlessly. To stop thinking, to stop reliving what he’d rewritten as Finn’s death. He could find Finn, reassure himself that he was alive, drown his fears in his presence.

Poe hauled himself out of bed, trying to ignore his protesting body. The room spun. His vision blurred around the edges. He should sleep. He knew that. He needed sleep. It had been two, _three_ , nights now. He could handle that. He’d handled it before. He _had_ to handle it.

He dismissed his need to lay back down, moving to grab some fresh clothes. BB-8 chided him as they pulled away from their charging point, urging _him_ to recharge. Poe briefly considered getting back into bed, to satisfy the little droid, if nothing more. It wouldn’t be productive. He knew he wouldn’t sleep.

“Sorry, buddy. I’ll have to do that later.” He patted their head, showing his appreciation. “I’ve got to do something with this restless energy before I go insane.”

Poe stepped into the fresher, catching his reflection in the mirror. He stopped, grimacing at the sight. He looked rough. The bruise across his cheekbone was discoloured and blotchy, yellowing at the edges. His eyes were bloodshot. The rings under his eyes were getting darker, the bruises matching. His hair splayed from his head in every direction, as distressed as he felt. He ran the tap, splashing his face with water and running it through his curls. It made no difference.

Sighing, he backed away from his reflection. He’d just have to look how he felt. Awful.

He changed his clothes, tossing his old ones into a pile on the floor. The shirt he’d chosen to wear had last been worn by Finn. It had been washed, but it smelled faintly of him. Poe took comfort in it, and the feeling of the soft fabric against his skin. He pulled the sleeves over his hands and rubbed the material between his fingers. He’d always liked the texture.

He stepped back into his room, retrieving his jacket from where he’d discarded it on the floor. His head buzzed. BB-8 beeped at him.

“I’m okay, buddy. Don’t worry.” Poe assured, stifling a wince. “I’ve got this.”

“Friend-Poe.”

“I know, buddy, I know.”

Sighing, he stumbled out of his quarters, heading in the general direction of the mess hall. BB-8 rolled alongside him. He felt nauseous. The kind of nausea where your body can’t decide whether it wants sleep or food more. He wanted neither. He wanted both. He ignored it, pushing the feeling down. Deep, deep down. Burying it alongside every one of his feelings. He only wished they stayed buried.

Foolishly, he hoped Finn would be there. Finn who he gravitated towards. Finn whose orbit he was caught in. Finn, who brought him hope amongst so much despair. Finn.

BB-8 bumped into Poe’s ankles and he looked at them, realising the little droid had been speaking to him. “Sorry buddy, I got lost in my head. What did you say?”

“Friend-Poe should tell Friend-Finn. Friend-Finn is good. He’ll understand. He’ll help. He cares about Friend-Poe a lot.” They trilled, tilting their head inquisitively. Poe almost tripped over. He was getting it from his droid now too. Whose side were they on? Admittedly, he had spent many evenings rambling to them about how much he adored Finn, but that was irrelevant.

“People keep saying that.” Poe muttered, placing a hand on them. “It’s not that easy though.”

“Why not?”

“It’s easier for droids. You deal in facts. Things you know. You have emotions to an extent, but it’s different. Being human is complicated. We feel too much. We think too much. It gets in the way.”

“Friend-Poe is right.” BB-8 chirped. “You do think too much.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Poe scoffed. “Love you too.”

He’d arrived outside the doors. His journey towards the mess hall had been quiet. He had yet to run into another living person, but he knew almost every person on base would be in there. He took a deep breath. He could do this. He pressed the button, darting into the room.

Poe swallowed, ignoring his urge to immediately look for Finn. He made his way towards the food counter instead. Someone bumped into his shoulder. He smothered the desire to bolt. He reached towards the stack of trays, picking one up and risking a glance around the room. There he was. Finn was sitting towards the back, laughing with Iolo, Jess and Snap about something, likely missions gone awry.

He turned his attention back to the task at hand. Poe assessed the food on offer. His stomach growled. His nausea increased. He could taste bile. He doubted he’d be able to keep anything down. Sighing, he picked at random and placed it on his tray. That would do. He turned back towards his friends and made his way to them.

Poe’s anxiety kicked in the closer he got. His hands started shaking. He knew they’d sense his distress. Jess had said it herself; he wore too much of his pain. He knew they’d be able to see it. He’d spent too much time with them, they were his squadron, they knew him too well.

He was close enough to hear their conversation.

“So anyway, in the midst of their confusion, me and Poe-“ Finn stopped midsentence, catching sight of Poe. Poe’s stress spiked, his breath hitching. He pasted a smirk onto his face as he sat down, pretending that everyone hadn’t turned to look at him. Finn had given him the spotlight he was hoping to avoid.

“Are you okay?” Finn asked, his face painted with concern.

“Fine. Just tired.” Poe replied, waving his hand in dismissal. He heard Jess scoff. If she was closer, he would have kicked her under the table.

“When did you last sleep? You look awful.”

“Thanks buddy,” Poe chuckled. It sounded false to his ears. “I can always count on you to be honest. Keeps my head from getting too big.”

His fingers itched to be in his hair. He was too conscious of his anxious habit. Too aware of how he was holding himself. Too aware of what he was doing. He turned his attention towards his plate and scowled at it, wishing he could stomach the idea of food. If he could eat, then maybe he’d stop being the centre of attention. His nausea increased. Food was off the table. It was definitely sleep he needed then.

The conversation around him continued. He could breathe easier. He slipped his hands through his curls, once, for comfort and threaded his fingers into each other. Poe wished for his heart to still.

Poe glanced up at Finn, reminding himself of his presence, drawing comfort from him. He studied the lines of Finn’s face. The soft structure, the arc of his nose, the curves of his cheeks. He would never stop admiring Finn. He was so beautiful to Poe, not just in his appearance, but his soul. His personality. He was brave. He was kind. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, raw and exposed, for everyone to see. He was an open book. An open book that Poe would never get tired of reading.

Poe just wanted to be near him. To be graced by his presence. Caught in his orbit. He was like the sun, but it was worth going blind if Poe got to stare at him. He was like the moon; not stealing the light, but reflecting it, illuminating the blackness of night. He was like the stars; so, so beautiful, so far away. Poe was too gay for this. Too gay and gone for this man. He’d been lost the moment he’d seen Finn, alive and well, in his jacket.

Alive.

The image of the dead stormtrooper’s eyes flashed through Poe’s mind and he jolted. He wasn’t in the mess hall anymore. He was back on that planet. His pulse quickened, fear coursing through his veins. Dead staring eyes. Blood. So much blood.

“Poe?” A voice asked. He felt something brush his hand and he jumped. He blinked. He was back in the mess hall. Finn was watching him, worry written across his face, his hand on Poe’s own. “Are you okay?”

Poe’s brain couldn’t formulate a response. He was still in overdrive, fear and adrenaline making everything more intense. He couldn’t process what was happening. He stared back in silence, using Finn as his tether to reality. Reassuring himself what was real. This was real. Finn was okay. He was here, before him. His eyes were alive; soft, warm and full of life. He was blinking. His skin was smooth and blood free. He was okay. He was alive. Everything was okay.

Poe started. He hadn’t responded. And he was staring. Finn was watching him back. The air was thick. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to run. To hide. To stop feeling so exposed and vulnerable when Finn looked his way.

“I, somehow, feel like I’m intruding.” Jess said, the metal legs of her chair squealing across the floor as she pushed it back. Poe cringed at the sound. He shook his head, standing.

“Sorry Jess, you can stay. I think I’m going to go get some sleep.” He pushed his tray into the table, offering his untouched food to his friends.

“See you guys later.” Poe waved, jumping out of his seat and walking towards the exit. He could feel, rather than see, Finn watching him. He swallowed the urge to go back to him.

BB-8 followed and beeped indignantly when he turned down the opposite hallway to the one that led back to his quarters. Poe headed towards the hangar instead. His x-wing, Black One, his baby, needed some R&R. If he couldn’t give it to himself, he could at least give some to her.

“This won’t end well.” BB-8 whistled.

“Thanks for your belief in me, buddy.” He mumbled. “I just need some distraction.” He added softly. He was flattered by the concern – by the concern of everyone – but he couldn’t justify it. He had to deal with this alone. He couldn’t tell anyone. If they knew what had happened, they’d never look at him the same again.

Maybe Finn would understand. Maybe he could confide in him.

_No._

He’d seen Finn’s dead, unseeing eyes. He’d killed them. Killed so many that wore his face. He couldn’t see that again. He couldn’t be responsible for the death of _his_ Finn too.

//

Poe couldn’t see straight. His head was buzzing. His vision was unfocused and hazy. He couldn’t hear properly. Everything sounded far away. Far away and under water. He was so tired.

He placed his forehead against the cool metal of Black One, closing his eyes. He wanted to sleep. He wished he could sleep. He’d been working on his girl for a few hours, but he’d achieved next to nothing. His limbs ached and protested with every movement. His head throbbed. His exhaustion was bone-deep.

“Poe?” He cursed. He’d been found. Scrubbing his eyes with the heel of a hand, Poe turned. Finn was standing beside him, inspecting the mess he’d made of tools and parts on the hangar floor.

“Finn?” Poe acknowledged, squatting to the floor and busying himself looking for a pilex driver. He couldn’t remember what he’d needed it for. Something important probably. He welcomed the distraction. The excuse to keep his hands busy, to not look into Finn’s face. He knew he was transparent. He knew Finn could see how much he was struggling.

“I thought you were going to sleep?” Finn said, a hint of amusement tinting his voice. Poe rummaged through his tools, training his eyes on his own hands. “Are you okay?”

Poe waved away his concern. “I just can’t sleep.” He hadn’t really answered the question.

“Did you even try?” Finn asked. Poe glanced up at him. He looked so earnest, so worried that Poe’s heart ached. He ached. He wished he could be honest with Finn, tell him his fears, confess his feelings. But he was a coward. His fear kept him from letting others in, his fear of what he’d gain, what he’d lose. His fear of change.

Poe laughed instead – a tired laugh, but a genuine one. He located the driver, straightened up and turned back to Black One. “You got me there, buddy.”

The laughter died in his throat as Finn’s hand closed around one of his own. He dropped the pilex driver in his other hand, turning to face his friend, eyes wide. A small, fond smile stretched across Finn’s lips.

“Come on,” He said softly, tugging on Poe’s hand. Poe let himself be led away, confusion dulling all of his senses. He stared at their intertwined hands. They looked good together, complimented each other well, fit perfectly together. He wanted to hold his hand all the time, feel the soft thrum of Finn’s pulse against his wrist, bask in the warmth of him.

Poe tore his eyes away from their hands, distracted by something he could hear. Finn was humming. Soft and low. Not a real song or melody. A tune of his own making. Poe’s heart was bleeding. He was overcome with his affection for Finn, his fondness for the man before him. He had endured a lifetime of suffering, of rules and conditioning, at the hands of the First Order, yet he was still brave, soft, individual, selfless, kind-hearted. He was everything Poe wished he could be, everything he admired in a person.

Finn squeezed his hand and Poe stumbled back from his thoughts. They were outside his quarters.

“Rest, Poe.” Finn said gently, his eyes warm. “I’m putting BB-8 on guard, they’re going to come get me if you try to leave, so don’t even think about it.” He laughed. It made Poe insides feel fuzzy. He was still holding Poe’s hand. The thought seemed to occur to him. He dropped it. Poe missed the contact immediately.

“No promises.” Poe said, swiping his key and clicking the door open. He moved to walk through when Finn stopped him, his hand on his arm. His pulse quickened. Damn his traitorous heart.

“I’m only going to ask once.” Finn said gently, the worry creeping back onto his face. “Do you need to talk about anything?”

Poe wanted to tell him. He wanted to show Finn the trust he had in him. To confide in him. He couldn’t. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Finn nodded his head, pressing his lips together.

“Just know, if you need me for anything, to talk about anything, I’ve got you.”

“Thanks buddy.” Poe smiled. He wanted to erase the worry on Finn’s face, smooth away the crease between his eyebrows. Kiss him for good measure. He settled for patting his shoulder. “I really appreciate it.”

Poe turned and let the door slid shut behind him. He leaned his head back against it, wishing he had the confidence to speak what he really wanted to say. “I love you.” He whispered to the empty room.

//

Poe’s hands were coated with blood. It splashed up his arms, stained his skin. He couldn’t scrub it off. He turned. Kylo Ren stood beside him, the larger man looming over him, his mask standing out in the darkness. He reached out towards Poe, fierce bolts of pain searing through his mind.

Poe doubled over, screaming. He was on his knees, crying, begging for relief. The pain increased. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t think. His brain was white noise. Fuzzy. Scrambled. He knew only pain.

The pain eased. He blinked. His vision cleared. Finn was before him, his hands on his face.

“Kill him.” Kylo Ren commanded, his voice raspy through his mask. Poe refused. He tried to back away. His body disobeyed him. He raised his hands, his bloodstained hands, and wrapped them around Finn’s neck. Finn’s face twisted in fear. He was terrified – terrified of Poe. He was crying.

Poe screamed at his arms to stop. He couldn’t. He’d lost control. He was helpless. Left to watch. An observer in his own body. He had to stop. He couldn’t stop.

The life was fading from Finn’s eyes. He was dying. Dying at Poe’s hands. He was responsible. He was killing the man he loved.

//

Poe bolted awake and upright with a gasp, breathless, his heart pounding. He was trembling. He was terrified. The details of the nightmare replayed in his mind. Finn’s death at his hand. Finn’s scared expression. The terror in Finn’s eyes as Poe’s hands worked against him. His lack of control. His helplessness. Left to watch as he killed him.

He clenched his fists, pressing them into his eyes, pulling his knees up to his chest. Hot tears streamed down his face. His eyes burned. His lungs burned. His chest was tight. Heavy. His throat constricted. He couldn’t breathe.

“Shush, it’s alright, you’re alright.” Finn’s voice whispered gently. Poe jumped, startled. His heart stuttered, stopped, restarted too fast. He peered up from his hands, eyes wide. There he was. Finn. Concern shining in his eyes as he reached out towards Poe. The latter laughed, embarrassed. He’d been caught. His turmoil had been discovered. He was a mess.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Finn said softly, his hand in Poe’s hair, stroking it. “Look at me, you’re here, you’re okay.”

Relief bubbled up and surged through Poe. He _was_ here. Finn was alive. He wasn’t being controlled; he had his own free will. He was okay. Everything was okay. His tears flowed harder. He tried to speak, but it got caught in his throat. An ugly sob slipped out his mouth.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, just breathe.” Finn’s tone was constant; quiet and steady. He kept stroking Poe’s hair. “Just breathe.”

Poe closed his eyes. He focused on the sensation of Finn’s fingers against his scalp, in his curls. It was grounding. He zoned in on it. He breathed slowly, timing his breaths with Finn’s movements. He inhaled as Finn’s fingers brushed his forehead, exhaled as they grazed his neck. His heartbeat slowed.

“How did you- “Poe croaked; his voice hoarse. He swallowed, cleared his throat. He was still crying. He couldn’t stop the tears. “How did you know?” He kept his eyes trained on his knees, too self-conscious to look up at Finn’s face.

“BB-8. They came to get me, beeping frantically about something. I’m still not great at binary.” Finn chuckled softly. “But the intention behind it was clear enough. I followed them back to your quarters. You, uh, you were crying out, tossing and turn. You wouldn’t stop lashing out. I tried to wake you.” He paused. “No wonder you’re so tired.”

He sounded so genuinely worried that Poe’s heart clenched. Poe glanced up at him. He had to see his face. Finn’s expression was sad, his eyebrows knitted with worry, his lips pressed together. His hand slipped from Poe’s hair to his face, stroking his temple and cheekbone with the back of his fingers. It wasn’t the side of his bruise.

The world stopped. Poe’s heart was bleeding. His feelings were leaking out of him. Everything he’d buried, every feeling he’d bottled up, fizzed up inside of him, bursting to explode. He wanted to tell Finn everything.

“What happened? What did you dream of? I don’t want to push.” Finn scanned his face. He could see past every blockade he’d put up. “But you can tell me.”

Poe hummed, biting his lip. Nausea and fear were rising back up inside of him. He swallowed, pushed it back down. He closed his eyes, leaning against Finn’s hand, the gesture soothing him. Finn kept it consistent, tracing the length of Poe’s face from his temple to his chin. Gentle, but with enough pressure to reassure him it was all real. He let himself be lulled into a sense of security and opened his mouth.

“I ran into some stormtroopers on a scouting mission.” Poe began, his voice unsteady. “We fought. I got into a scuffle with one of them, still got the marks to prove it.” He gestured to his bruised cheekbone and winced as he caught it. “I killed them all, but uh, not before I saw this one stormtrooper’s face.” The images flashed in his mind. Finn’s face marred with glass and blood. So much blood. It had been on his hands. It was still on his hands. _No._

Poe yelped, opening his eyes again, looking into Finn’s face. He was here. He was alive. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t _his_ Finn. _His_ Finn was before him now. Here, for him. He was always there for him.

“They had your face.” Poe could hear the fear in his voice; it was laced with it. “They all did.”

Finn didn’t look surprised. He nodded to himself, thinking for a moment. “Yeah, that makes sense. When they couldn’t find enough kids to fill out the ranks, they took their DNA, filled it out that way. I think they also did it to test productivity, I can’t remember all the details.”

He pulled his hand away from Poe’s face, suddenly looking unsure. Poe missed the warmth and comfort it had brought.

“Did you- “Finn stopped. He looked torn. It made Poe’s chest hurt. “Do you- Were you worried that I’m just a clone too?? That I’m just biding my time waiting to go back to the First Order?”

“Kriff, Finn, no!” Poe stuttered out immediately, taking the hand Finn had retracted in both of his own. Finn gazed down at their hands. Poe dropped it again like he’d been burned. He shouldn’t have done that. He was struggling to maintain the boundaries he strictly held. The tightrope he walked. Somewhere along the line, he’d somersaulted off the end. He didn’t want to make Finn uncomfortable; he didn’t want to push him too far.

Poe tugged his fingers through his hair, staring at his knees and battling with his words. He wanted to be honest, but without crossing that line; without telling him why he was so afraid; without confessing how he truly felt. The words were stuck in his throat. He couldn’t phrase them. Couldn’t speak them. _Screw it._

“I couldn’t- I can’t bear to see you dead. We’ve seen so much death recently, and I’m carrying the weight of each of those deaths in here.” Poe pressed his palm into his chest. “I’m responsible for so many of them. But you, Finn, you. I can’t lose you. I can’t be responsible for your death. I can’t have your blood on my hands. I can’t stop seeing that stormtrooper’s dead eyes, _your_ dead eyes.” His voice was a whisper now. “I can’t stop seeing you dead. I care about you too much, Finn. I can’t do this; I can’t live without you.”

He risked a glance at Finn. The expression on his face was raw. His eyes were wide, unblinking, his lips parted. He didn’t blink. He didn’t speak. He just stared at Poe, stunned. The latter wanted to shake him, to prompt a response from him. He didn’t. The silence was stretching. It was too quiet. Too thick. Too awkward. Too hostile.

Poe wanted to take back his admission. He wanted to speak the whole truth. He wanted to scrub out his words with a marker.

“I- uh, you’re my best buddy.” He added. He was a coward. Afraid. Always afraid.

Hurt flickered across Finn’s face, but he blinked, and it was gone. Maybe Poe had imagined it. He had willed it into existence, wanted so badly for him to reciprocate his feelings that he was reading too much into things that weren’t there.

“Would, uh- “Finn rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Poe’s eyes. “Would it help if I stayed here? That way, you can sleep, and you know I’m alive? Maybe that would help?”

Poe, tired and desperate, and so weak for this kind man, nodded his head. He scrubbed his face with his hands and laid back down. He didn’t know which would kill him faster; Finn with him as he slept, or the image of his dead face. Finn laid down beside him, turning on his side to face Poe. This. This would kill him faster. Timidly, he turned to face the younger man, his heart beating so loudly he could hear it. He prayed that Finn couldn’t.

Finn was watching him, studying his face, clearly figuring something out. Before Poe could question him, Finn reached forward and tugged him into his chest. He wrapped his arms around him, lodging Poe safely between them, one hand finding its way back into his hair.

Poe’s brain took a few moments to catch up. He wanted to protest, to object, to bring his walls back up. But he was exhausted. He hadn’t slept in days. He was tired of running. He just wanted to sleep. To hold Finn in his arms. To not feel guilty about it. But Finn had initiated the contact. Whether it was because he still hadn’t got the social norms and boundaries thing, or something else, he had offered Poe this opportunity. Poe didn’t have the heart to refuse.

Slowly, he placed his arms around Finn’s waist. He wanted to hyperventilate. To go to a room somewhere and scream. This was too much for him, too much for his weak, gay heart. Too much. Not enough. He closed his eyes and buried his face into the crook of Finn’s neck. He felt warm. He felt safe. He wanted this feeling to last forever. Wanted to stay in Finn’s arms forever. Wanted to confess to him. Wanted. Wanted. Wanted.

Finn drew patterns on his back – enough pressure to be reassuring, not enough to hurt. Gratitude flooded Poe. He was so grateful. It was overwhelming him. Here Finn was. Selfless Finn. Comforting him. Saving him from himself, from his nightmares. Saving him, as he’d done time and time again. He’d continuously saved his life, his mind, his heart, over and over.

Finn pressed a kiss to the top of Poe’s head and opened his mouth to speak. “So, Rey recommended this book to me about ship engineering so that I’d understand what she was talking about when she goes off about the mechanics of the Millennium Falcon, and it’s actually quite interesting. I still have no clue what she’s talking about, but I have learned a lot.”

It was suddenly all too much for Poe. He couldn’t handle it. He had to tell him. He had to make it known just how much he appreciated the man before him, just how much he’d changed his life. Maybe it’d make things weird, maybe it would change their relationship, and this strangely domestic situation they’d found themselves in would have to end, but he had to tell him. He couldn’t keep it a secret for a moment longer.

Poe was a coward, but here he felt safe. Here he could be brave. With Finn’s arms tightly around him, their legs tangled together, his hands smoothing circles into his skin and in his hair, he could always be brave. He was Poe Dameron – reckless pilot, jumping into situations without thinking it all through, leaving his fear behind. He could do this.

He was sleep deprived. He was reckless. He was safe. He didn’t know better.

“Finn.” Poe whispered, interrupting his chatter. The younger man hummed in acknowledgement. “I- “Poe closed his eyes, summoning his fighting spirit. “I love you.”

A beat of silence. Two.

“I love you too.”

Poe was shaking his head before he could stop himself. He needed Finn to understand. This wasn’t the same as when he told Rey he loved her, or when he told Jess or Snap or Leia. It was a different kind of love altogether. It wasn’t familial love. It wasn’t platonic love. Or it was. But it wasn’t _just_ those things.

He pulled back, just a little, enough to look at Finn’s face. He knew he was frowning. “No. I’m in love with you.”

“I know.” Finn’s voice was fond. His tone indicated he’d always known what he’d meant. He hadn’t confused the meanings; he’d had no doubt. He didn’t need the distinction, or clarification, they’d been on the same page the entire time.

Finn smiled and leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against Poe’s. The kiss was sweet; soft and slow. Better than Poe had ever imagined. He melted. His heart was pounding in his ears. He was so unbelievably happy. He smiled against Finn’s mouth, breathless.

“I love you.” He said again. For good measure. Because he could.

Finn hummed. “I love you too.” He said, kissing Poe’s forehead and tucking him back under his chin. “Now sleep.”

“But-“

“Tomorrow. It’s sleep time now. You need it.”

Poe huffed, but he was happy. He snuggled back into Finn’s chest, his heart so full. He closed his eyes, allowing the feeling of safety to envelope and suffocate him. Sleep clouded his mind as Finn returned to rambling about his book, his voice soothing Poe to the very depths of his soul. He smiled. Yavin IV might have been where he was born; where he’d grown up; where he’d been raised, but this, _right here_ , with Finn’s arms around him, _this was home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all folks, hope you enjoyed !!  
> im sorry if anyone felt out of character, I tried my hardest to keep them all as in character as I could !!  
> will hopefully be writing more fluff for my boys so see y'all soon mayhaps  
> peace homies


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